


Not Everything is What it Seems

by Mistshift



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Necromancy, No Bashing, Rituals, Runes, Soul Bond, War, bad things, but lots of hatred, but not in a romantic sense, its just not the soul bond influencing it, still probably gonna be romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-01-17 15:42:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12368883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistshift/pseuds/Mistshift
Summary: During fourth year Harry's general isolation leads to unexpected happenings.





	1. Uh the beginning and stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confusion and problems. I'm a very cliche writer and this is a very cliche piece.

The moment his name came out of the cup Harry knew things were about to change for the worst. That dam of foreboding that had been solidly lodged in his chest since the Quidditch World Cup had finally burst and Harry's possibility of a danger-free year was washed away by the tide of whispers that spread through the great hall.

He was then manhandled towards the other champions who were behind the hall and subsequently questioned, blamed, pardoned and then finally informed that his participation in one of the most dangerous events in wizarding history was completely magically binding and he had no way out. Great! 'Deep breath in and out, in and out Harry.' On the third mental repetition of this Harry finally found his voice.

"Headmaster. Is th-," he choked on a small wave of impending doom. "Is there really no way I can get around the magic."

The headmaster's eyes had stopped twinkling long ago, and the sinking feeling in Harry's gut only grew as that uncharacteristic, flat gaze was turned on him.

"My dear boy, I am afraid not. The magic of the cup is ancient, and magic of its type only gains strength as it ages. Even if a way could be found, around the cups magic, the shear strength it would take to follow that way is incalculable. I am sorry to say this, but you will have to participate."

Harry pressed his eyes shut as he nodded. The weight of six out of eleven sets of eyes glaring holes into the top of his lowered head. He needed to focus. Count his breaths again, like he did with Quirrell, like he did down in the chamber. He was a Gryffindor, he was brave, he could handle this damned tournament and make it out alive. Hermione could help him research the tasks and plan, and Ron would be there to stop him from going mental from her nagging. It was all going to be ok.

The walk back to Gryffindor tower seemed to take years. He employed nearly every coping mechanism he had in his arsenal to stop himself from curling up in an alcove and crying like he hadn't cried in years. He wasn't sure what it was that it was, Making his so emotional, maybe the eyes. On all of his previous… adventure he had been alone. Or with someone he could trust.

Now he was walking the tightrope of life and death with hundreds of eyes on him and he was a wreck in front of people. Clumsy and awkward most the time, with a too cynical disposition and a tendency to let his mouth run away with him. Despite all of his Gryffindor bravado, he knew his shortcomings, numerous as they were.  He blamed the Dursleys for raising him the way they had. Ha! Who was he kidding? He blamed himself.

When he got back to the common room he was swamped with questions. Every voice in the room making itself known at once. One voice, nearer, louder and colder than the others poked its way into his consciousness. He turned towards Ron.

“How’d you do it then?”

“Wu-”

“I guess you couldn't share in the glory, could you? The famous Harry Potter, can't even share with his best friend. No, he’s too bent on glory and attention. Can’t let anyone else get a piece can he?”

“Ron I didn-”

“On no, you don’t, you don’t get to pull shit like this and pretend you didn’t. You’re a selfish prick, you know that.”

“But Ron!”

“OH SHUT UP. I don't want to hear you lie to me on top of everything else. Fuck off, Potter. I don’t want to see your face.”

Ron ran up the stairs then and Harry fled the common room. Fled the whispers and the stares. Vomit pooled in his mouth.

“ _I don’t want to see your face._ ”

 

x

“The toilet, Piers, gotta flush of the ugly. No one wants to see a face like that.”

“Please Vernon, lock up the freak. I don't want to see his face.”

“Boy, get down here and make breakfast! Be quick or you know what's coming to you. No one wants to see your face.”

“Strange boy, a criminal I heard. Poor Petunia. No wonder they keep him inside. Wouldn’t want the neighbors seeing something like that. What are you looking at Boy? No one wants to see your face.”

x

 

Fuck. It hurt. It was nothing new and it always did, but with the new threat to his life and his confusing emotional imbalance, Ron's words cut deeper than normal. A razor blade in a pile of needles. He sucked in a breath. ‘In and out, in and out Harry’. It took seven repeats of his mantra this time to settle what nerves he could and by the time they were finished he found himself in a strange corridor. Somewhere else.

He didn't recognize the place and he had been aware enough of his flight from the tower to know he had not taken any stairs. The seventh floor then. But that was confusing. He had explored the seventh floor enough times to have thought he knew it all. He had never seen this corridor though. It was strange, the moonlight seeming to bend like it was hitting some invisible mirror, but a different, subtler curve. His curiosity was peaked.

It almost seemed as if all the moonlight in the corridor was focused on one wall. No, it was all focused on the wall. He could see a definite line in the shadows. They curved to an end in front of a tapestry of… Barnabas the Barmy? He almost sighed in dejection. Why did Hogwarts have to make wonderful events always lead to ordinary things (and of course ordinary things lead to horrible adventures)? Still, he approached the tapestry. It was the only one in the corridor, and hopefully, the man was crazy enough to not rat him out to Filch.

He had heard of the tapestry before in passing by way of the Weasley twins and could see training trolls to dance lifting his self-pitying mood. Or at least distracting from it.

“You seem to be in need of something Harry Potter.”

 

ooo

 

Hermione was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Well at least the blue of Ron’s eyes and the newly named Hogwarts devil, and not in the ‘Sexy Devil’ sense, more of the fear and loathing type of devil. It was the worst predicament Harry had gotten himself into yet, second-year all over again. But not even the ostracization he was subject to after outing himself as a parselmouth had been this bad. He had been a Gryffindor with a Muggle-born friend, and Rita Skeeter hadn't written a horrible, misquoted, and antagonistic article about him in his second year. Why exactly had the wands needed to be weighed again?

Now the Hufflepuffs were out for his blood, the Ravenclaws were upset he got around the cup's age line and the Slytherins were bandwagoning assholes like always. And the Gryffindors, well, they were torn between pride and jealousy and only half were even speaking to Harry. He was pretty damn unpopular now. It was so much like her in first year. He was all alone save for the occasional company of Neville and herself, and his regular letters with his godfather.

She knew he had for a brief time found solace in the library. Just sitting alone he learned why she so often lost herself there. It was him now that got lost. Said he could almost forget that ninety-nine percent of the school hated him, and the rest of the wizarding world thought he was a glory-mongering attention whore. She almost cried in denial when he said it like that, but it was true and she wouldn't sugar coat it for him. He didn't deserve platitudes. And he didn't deserve the shit he got. So she agreed instead and derailed the mood she could sense building inside him. Bringing him back into the small world they had created between paper and ink, in alcoves so old and unused they were covered in dust, with sunlight through the windows revealing rivers of it in the air. The mundane spell of scrolls and ancient texts masking troubles into a different world, the real world. Separate. Sometimes it was only the books and Harry. He was okay.

That was until some asshole Hufflepuffs had found him and had made a point to be rowdy around his table, throwing things and dropping books in order to disrupt his safe space. And when Madam Pince would come looking to see what all the noise was about they would all just point their fingers at Harry, getting him kicked out. It had gotten so bad that Madam Pince had even forbidden him from taking out books due to his "disrespect for knowledge and learning environments". Hermione felt so mad when he had told her. So terribly, terribly angry she wanted to break things and hurt the people who had hurt her first friend. The fragile and special and kind person Harry was, even if he did let his mouth get him in trouble too often

Hermione had tried to defend his honor, going as far as to petition the Headmaster, but Madam Pince was well within her rights as a teacher to prohibit the library. Apparently, class curriculum was all based on the textbooks, which Harry owned so they were supposedly not hindering his education. And after Madam Pince threatened to ban her as well, well there was nothing she could do. Harry had thanked her but already resigned himself to owl ordering what he needed from Diagon Alley to even have the slightest chance of researching for the tournament. Or even keeping up with his classes! Which did in fact call for multiple sources. Ordinarily, she would be rather jealous of having as much money as Harry had in his trust to spend on books, but when he had to order Most Common Defense Spells Every Wizard Should Know of which there were twenty copies in the library she couldn't feel anything but rage. Had Harry been anyone else, he mightn’t have been able to afford it which was practically a death sentence. Uggggh! Sometimes she really hated the wizarding world. Since when was it ok to allow teenagers, no matter if they were of age or not, to enter life-threatening games for sport. It didn't fucking make sense!

"I can't believe she would do that to you. She is a teacher. It's her responsibility to give you access to the knowledge you need to progress in life. It's horrible, monstrous, unethical. I can't believe she is allowed to-," She was on a role...again. And she saw in her periphery Harry roll his eyes at her exaggerated and unnecessary rant. It was one of the few times she and Neville had joined, or even saw him, in an empty classroom, with books gathered in a nest on the floor. The manifestation of his disorganized and apparently effective research for the tournament. His current defense grades were evidence of his newfound focus. Intense focus. She and Neville barely even saw him anymore.

It was strange, as was her new friendship with the ‘Hufflepuff of Gryffindor’. He was the only other member of their year still speaking to her friend, sitting with him on the rare instances he showed up and their proximity had drawn her into the new friendship which was surprisingly fulfilling. They had taken to spending time together in the library when Hermione decided she needed a break from Ron’s idiocy and the general noise of the common room. She had even started tutoring him in potions at his request and discovered a remarkably intelligent boy behind his shy disposition. His knowledge of plants was unparalleled, and he even had a solid grasp on the plant-based reactants in potions, his all-around worst subject. It was his nerves that got in the way of his practicals and his empathy.

He pitied the potions ingredients. She had nearly laughed aloud when he first told her, thinking it was a joke, but managed to restrain herself in time to see an embarrassed blush cover his cheeks.

“I know it's dumb.”He said when he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips, the flush growing brighter on his round face.

“No!” She said a bit too vehemently and blushed herself for a second. “No it’s not dumb, it's normal to feel a bit queasy at the stuff we work with down there. And people can empathize with their pets, so why not with the animals used in potions. No, it isn't dumb… I just wouldn't recommend pharmacist as a career path.

She was awarded a sweet smile for her joke and felt her heart give a small inexplicable flutter. She tucked her head back into the book in an effort to hide the blush across the freckles gracing her nose.

He was almost the new Ron of their group, if Ron was the exact opposite of his own deposition and if people could be replaced as easily as quills. Not that there even was a group anymore. Harry was never around, always rushing away if he even showed up for meals and arriving only minutes before classes. She would be worried, but every time she found him he was just researching, or reading or playing solitaire, which was sad and kind of funny. But every time she saw him he was remarkably ok? Like he had found direction, which was always his problem in the past. Every time they did homework or wrote essays he hadn’t seen the point. She assumed it was why school work was so difficult for him and she had tried to instill her own love of learning into her friend. It hadn’t worked, but now with the risk of death hanging over his head, she would be hard-pressed to find him without a book, or honestly find him at all. Go figure her friend would need such an extreme environment to perform his best. God that boy was one of a kind. And she would be the first to admit when Harry found a passion he would never let it go. His new passion seemed to be expanding his mind. Sitting in her bed up in Gryffindor common room, she couldn't be more proud.

 

ooo

 

Harry was again sitting in his new safe space four days since getting ejected from the library and his privilege of knowledge revoked. After his bizarre and amusing conversation with the tapestry of Barnabas or ‘Barney’ on Halloween night as he liked to be called, the tapestry had told him to look at the wall opposite of them and think of what he needed. He had rolled his eyes at the crazy bundle of thread but did it all the same to humor the tapestry that had provided him with such a needed pick me up. And when a door appeared on the third repetition of ‘I need something apparently,’ he had been quite surprised. He gaped at the door, and then at the Man in the tapestry who only winked at him and returned to training his trolls. A line of text appeared at the bottom of the weave.

Not Every Thing is What it Seems

He smiled and nodded.

“Of course.”

Upon entering the mysterious new door he found what could only be described as a ‘hangout spot’. Huge beanbags and plush armchairs surrounded a small fire which seemed to change color sporadically cycling through the rainbow. A small cupboard and counter were against one wall, next to an enormous floor to ceiling window. He wandered over to look through the cupboard and and found to his great delight chilled butterbeer and a selection of his favorite snacks. He grinned and giggled a little promising himself he would return before leaving the room, closing the door and watching it recede back into the stonework.

Huh? An ordinary wall led to a wonderful thing, not a trap door to doom or a sink to death. Inexplicably the last of his self-depreciation cleared, or maybe at the thought that despite things not quite being what they first appeared they could still lead to the strange and wondrous, not only chambers of secrets.

He hadn't had a chance to go back before all the shit with Madam Pince went down. The other students seemed to be dogging his steps, waiting to get a chance to mock and harass him, the fuckers. He found himself using his cloak more and more regularly just to get to classes without a stinging hex or tripping jinx making its way past the teacher's ‘watchful’ gaze. And then the library drama had flooded his pool of calm. And he was pushed even farther from everyday Hogwarts life and honestly he was grateful.

He donned his cloak in the mornings before stepping out of his curtains, ate his meals in the kitchens under the care of exuberant and charming house elves and sat alone, or with Neville during classes. He would have sat with Hermione too, but she was still trying to avoid conflict with Ron and didn't want to seem like she was picking sides so she sat with Neville in most classes when Harry sat by himself.

Ron was still being a dick. He was openly antagonistic and took every chance he could to give Harry shit. Harry honestly wasn’t very affected. He was angry of course, and hurt. But other than Ron his life was surprisingly ok and Harry had taken to counting his blessings, rather than his curses.

They, Hermione and Neville, had sprouted, to Harry's initial surprise, a strong friendship in the few weeks he had been absent from the humdrum of their boarding school life. But his surprise was quickly dispelled, they were strangely complementary. Hermione's sometimes aggressive passion and Neville's passive calm. They were good for each other and he was happy Neville was getting close to someone. He hadn’t noticed the shy boy was often alone. He had felt a wash of guilt when he first acknowledged that thought. He spent two and a half full years with the boy, living with him in the same dorm and he hadn't noticed his isolation. He had let Neville slip through the cracks. Just like he was doing now. Although his was intentional.

He guessed that he was just so used to solitude and after the eleven years he spent in it during crucial developmental years, he couldn't quite live without it. This was better though because he wasn't alone, Hermione and Neville were by his side when he wanted them to be and it was enough. It was good, and he could honestly feel himself thriving. He had time to himself to learn about himself, time with people to learn about people, and even some conflict to stimulate growth and improvement. God, he was reading too many Mind Healer texts. He had started psychoanalyzing himself. Great!

It was honestly becoming a passion though, his research on healing magic. It was so in depth and complex with real-life applications he could relate to so they were important to him and held his attention. He would never tell Hermione this but he had bought more books on healing than he had for researching the tournament.

Which had led to a quite surprising letter. After owling the goblins to inquire about taking money from his trust while at school he received notification of his magical emancipation. Or at least the possibility of it. According to the letter when the Ministries of each nation involved in the tournament had determined that participants must be of legal age to compete his forced participation and the magical binding opened up a solid canal for his early emancipation and claim of lordship should he so wish it.

He had owled Sirius after immediately after receiving the letter from one of the house elves during breakfast. He knew Sirius was Pure-Blooded, and the man probably had loads more experience with goblins than he had and he really needed some advice. On the one hand, getting emancipated would mean he would never have to see the Dursleys or Number 4 Privet Drive ever again, on the other hand, he would be growing up so quickly. He hadn’t realized how truly enormous being responsible for himself would be when he had written his godfather, but then Hermione had explained the enormity of the decision to become legally responsible for himself. He would have to manage his accounts, get a lawyer, a solicitor, and because the Potter’s were an old Pure family, a proxy representative on the Wizengamot. He was nearly bubbling at the thought that he would never have to return to the Dursleys ever again, but the sheer quantity of self-responsibility was popping those bubbles quite fast. Still, it begged the question, if getting emancipated would saddle him with all this power, who was in control of it now.

He had written a follow up letter to Sirius expressing his concerns and hoped the man would be able to write back soon. He sighed sinking further into his beanbag chair, The Mess of the Mind slipping from his loosened grip as Harry turned to stare into the fire, its changing colors soothing some of the tension he could once again feel building in his chest. When had his life gotten so complicated? Oh yeah, when he was fifteen months old.

 

ooo

   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought? How nice tell me them. Lol, I'm done writing this shiz. Hahaha! not but I got frustrated so here it is Chapter 1. It will probably get fixed like a million times by the time I post the next chapter. But that's how I roll so...¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	2. Chapter 2

Sirius had been keeping in close contact with his Godson after receiving a letter detailing the events of Halloween. His pup’s life was so damn hard and Sirius would give anything to ease even just a little of that pressure and makeup or all the years he hadn’t been there for him. He learned through letters Harry was forced to live with Lily's sister over the summer, of whom he had no fond memories. She had been, and apparently still was a right bitch and her whale husband and mini-whale shit of a son had the audacity to neglect his Godson.

He had never felt like more of a failure. His misplaced wanted status preventing him from taking care of the most important person in his life. Oh how far his ancient and noble blood had fallen. Walburga had been a bitch, but she had been right, he was worse than useless as it stood. And he was only causing more problems for Harry. The boy sent supplies to him regularly, despite it being white dangerous and illegal for him to do so. All it would take would be one crazy fan following the owls his godson sent out and it would lead them to Sirius Black, still, as last he checked Undesirable Number 1 and Harry's life would be ruined. He would be tossed into Azkaban for consorting with a criminal and ‘convicted’ death eater. The Boy-Who-Lived gone dark and siding with his parent's murderer. He wouldn't be surprised if they went as far to say rising dark lord. If only he was free. If only he had the black name. He would rip the Skeeter bitch to pieces.

He had talked to Albus about moving his Godson to one of the vacant Black residences Sirius said he would even stay at Grimmauld Place to watch over him, but his old professor had adamantly refused. It was apparently crucial to Harry's safety that he return to number 4 Privet Drive every summer, nevermind that he was treated like shit there and didn’t have any magic to defend himself. Sirius called bull shit, important wards around the property Merlins hairy ass. What was the point of keeping Harry from Death Eaters if he still got hurt in his own home? Sirius had fought it argued, but Albus was Harry’s guardian in the magical community and Sirius was on the run.

That put a sour taste into his mouth. When Harry had written him informing him he had no idea about the extent of the Potter estate he had been confused, surely Albus had explained it to him. But no Harry was completely ignorant of the political power his family held in the Wizarding world.

“He should grow up humble Sirius. Just a normal boy with a normal life. He had a great destiny, I only wish him to have a childhood while he still can.”

What the fuck. Sirius had been revolted at the Headmaster's answers. Harry wasn’t a normal boy, he was James and Lily’s son, an even more than that a magical child, and even further than that the famous savior of the wizarding world. In no way should he have been growing up with filth like Petunia, he could have been raised humbly almost anywhere else that had been in James’ and Lily’s will to send him. And Harry most definitely did not have a normal life. It was fraught with danger and not even at home could he find reprieve from that. It was tragic. And the way Harry just glossed over the bad in all of his letters.

It was almost sweet, but he was supposed to be the adult. And yet here was his fourteen-year-old godson was trying to stop him from worrying. Even after the boy had been entered in one of the most deadly legal events in wizarding history. And Sirius couldn’t even be there for him in person. To help him through the taunts and the teasing. Honestly, it was like the roles were reversed. The school tormenting the lone Gryffindor.

He had hated Snape, thought he was arrogant and weak, but seeing it from the other side of the glass happening to someone he cared about was awful. And he really did care about Harry, He was one of the two last connections to his real family and was bound to Sirius through the godfather bond. It didn't help that there were still things Harry wasn’t telling him. He heard about the badges and Ron's anger, but he could see even in just letters that his godson was internalizing and downplaying how he felt. Harry was too caring, too considerate. Sirius knew Harry was worried for his safety and that part of why he wasn’t opening up.

He wanted to be there for him, but Tournament security was tight. But if he could just claim his Titles as the last male of the black line. He would be able to access that one vault he remembered with all the books and artifacts. There was bound to be something to help Harry in there and he could send Harry useful books from the library in his family's old townhouse.

And the Goblins had a strict neutrality policy right? And they hated the ministry. He was probably being far to Gryffindor, risking his neck like this, but goblins valued gold above all else. Perhaps some of the Black gold, if he could get it, might seal their lips. Harry was going to kill him but it was too late now. Making up its mind the shaggy stray began its long journey to London.

 

ooo

 

Gods people were such assholes. Harry made his way to the infirmary for the third time that day holding a conjured icepack to his swollen wrist. He had fallen down a small flight of stairs coming out of one of the empty classrooms in which he now spent time with Hermione and Neville. They had left early however and when he had exited the room there had been an incredibly convenient group of students nearby. He really had to get a charm to protect against tripping jinxes. Next time it might not only be three stairs.

He wasn’t sure how they had found him. He'd had been using his cloak most of the time to traverse the halls, leaving it with Dobby for safekeeping when he didn’t have it on him. This had been one of the very few times he had been without it since Halloween and the other students had found his hiding place almost immediately. Were they bloodhounds? Probably. They were definitely out for blood. No, they probably bribed the portraits. He made a mental note to avoid all frames from now on if he wasn't under his cloak.

It was tiring having to move shop every time he could be seen. He needed somewhere permanent where the other students couldn’t go and there were no portraits around so spy on him. He had a suspicion that a certain few were following him. That probably how people kept finding him.

Madam Pomfrey didn’t even bat an eye when he entered her ward. He had been visiting the hospital wing regularly for weeks with scrapes and bumps she knew came from the other children. Unfortunately, the only thing she could really do was patch him up. Hogwarts was just too big to monitor him all the time even with the portraits on the walls and small things like the Toenail growing hex, no matter how irritating and painful, just slipped through the cracks. It didn’t help that the entire staff has systematically ignored bullying and danger for years. And of course, they were upset at Potter’s name coming out of the goblet despite it being their responsibility to prevent underage wizards from entering in the first place. She had taken up her concerns with the headmaster, but the man, as always, seemed painfully optimistic and already had a history of ignoring bullying. This time was nothing new.

"Back again Mr. Potter"

Harry gave her a small grin.

"Of course, Madam. I missed your lovely face."

She scowled at him. It was something James would have said. She hadn't realized cheeky flirting ran in the family. 

"A point from Gryffindor for your sass. Now, let me see that wrist."

Bloated and purple, despite the constant icing, it was one of the worse injuries she had seen him have so far and she could tell things were escalating. After the library, the other students realized they could be more bold and drastic with relatively few consequences. He needed some form of protection if he was going to handle this school year on top of studying for the tasks. 

"Harry dear, these accidents you are having are getting worse. I think it's is in your best interest to take a quick trip to Diagon Alley to see if your heir vault might have any protection amulets."

Harry seemed surprised to hear her call him by his first name. And she herself was surprised that it slipped out, but she saw the boy so often now. Once he even stayed in her office for lunch during which she learned about his growing love for healing. Still, she hadn't in all his years addresses him by first name before, though he supposed she had taken a more important role in his life now that he saw her Nearly every day.

The boy sighed

"I know Madam Pomphrey. It's just that I won't be able to until the winter hols, and then I would have to stay with the Dursleys for the whole holiday."

Students weren't allowed to leave Hogwarts if they stayed for the breaks, excepting Hogsmeade and the amulets they sold there didn’t last nearly long enough to be worth the price, especially not if he had Heir amulets in his vaults that would do the job and then some. She knew of one, in particular, the James had gifted Lily in their seventh year. A potion had exploded and it sent her to the Hospital wing and James had been frantic with worry. Eventually going so far as to Owl his parents for a defensive family heirloom.

It had been sweet to see Lily’s face when he presented the bracelet to her. He had been blushing tomato red despite them having been dating for a while already. Despite all his shortcomings when James Potter loved, he loved fiercely. They had been adorable.

There was another reason she wanted him to get a more extensive amulet as well. She had performed the scans, and she saw the signs. She knew Harry had a less than ideal home life but the disconnect between the muggle and magical governments allowed situations like his to be overlooked. It was the responsibility of the Muggle government to protect muggle-borns and it seemed that this, like so many times in the past, wasn’t working. 

She thought for a moment before indicating that the boy should follow her to the office and then proceeded to the large fireplace situated behind her desk. Taking a small pot from the mantle she dipped her fingers in and, after throwing some of its contents into the fire, called out.

"Deputy Headmistress's office Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

After only a few moments, the green flames eventually settled into the image of Professor McGonagall.

"Afternoon Poppy, you wished to speak with me. I am teaching the third years at the moment so it must be brief."

"Yes, Minerva. I would like to ask permission to escort a student to Diagon Alley, I am in need of certain supplies and the student in question has some business he must conduct at Gringotts. I was just about to floo Saint Mungo's to see if any medi-witches were available to substitute in my absence. It would be this Saturday so the student wouldn’t be missing any classes."

Harry was quite surprised. He hadn't realized it would be possible to request a chaperone to the alley, or that the Deputy Head was responsible for sanctioning such trips. He would have to look into the school policies more thoroughly. Within the fireplace, his professor was nodding her head.

"Yes, Yes, of course. If a substitute is available, and the child's guardians agree I see no issue in allowing a student attend their own legal business. Who is it you are-"

She was cut off by a loud explosion and her head disappeared. They heard a loud "MR. CREEVEY!" Before the floo connection was cut off. Madam Pomfrey looked at the boy with a small smile. Harry was smiling as well, he couldn’t wait to tell his friends and write his godfather.

Madam Pomphrey made two more floo calls, one directed through the muggle phone line which she used along with a muggle fax machine to get the signed paperwork from his furious uncle. Harry was happy, he didn’t even need to see the bastard in person. He had no idea the muggle and magical worlds were connected in such a way either. He was surprised and quite frustrated at his own ignorance. He would have to rectify it as soon as possible

After everything was arranged it was already one in the afternoon so they both ate lunch in her office before he had to depart for his next class. He had already written a quick note telling his godfather the date and time of the trip and he handed it to the house elf that brought their lunch and ordered her to give it straight to Dobby. The little creature looked to be on the brink of tears at being spoken to directly but still managed to squeak out a shrill "Yes sir. 'Thanks 'yous sir." Before popping back down to what Harry presumed to be the kitchens.

After they finished the food Madam Pomfrey had ushered him out of her ward. It was Thursday and the boy needed to finish the rest of his classes. They spoke their goodbyes before Harry headed to his next class, Divination. He couldn’t wait for Saturday to come. 

 

ooo

 

But come it did and after only a few agonizingly slow and miserable days he was standing in front of an empty fire grate the Medi-Witch beside him. Fortunately, he came out of the correct fireplace, but she still abhorred traveling by floo. Wasn't there some easier way to get from place to place. Portkeys were equally as awful as the floo and from what he had heard about apparition, it to felt heinous. Why hadn’t anyone thought it prudent to improve the magic of travel? All the forms were too dangerous for the elderly, and young children. That caused a lot of problems for a large portion of the wizarding community. 

The fire grate Harry landed in was farther down the ally than he had ever traversed before at a crossroads between Vert, Diagon, and Love Alleys. He had only ever stayed on the Diagon, the student based alley in the set of seven and the one time he had strayed into Nocturn. Maybe if all his business got done quickly he could explore a little.

Love Alley was, according to Lavender and Pavarti, a series of boutiques, and department stores. Maybe while he was here he could change his wardrobe. It wouldn't do to have a lord looking like a homeless person. He could also pick up some decor for his hang out spot. Maybe even one of those star maps that could be projected on the ceiling.

When he had met back up with Madam Pomfrey she had agreed to his idea of a little shopping trip, not seeing anything wrong with him taking advantage of his time in the Alley. She did, however, warn him she would be accompanying him so as to keep from finding trouble.

He had quickly corrected her. Trouble obviously found him, but she merely rolled her eyes and began making her way to the large white structure in the distance

Upon their arrival, Harry waved goodbye to Madam Pomphrey and climbed the steps of the enormous building. Tall and imposing Gringotts’ Diagon branch dwarfed the other shops in the alley, which Harry found quite humorous since he had just learned the goblins hated dwarves from the book Sirius had sent him. He almost smiled, but it was wiped from his face as he saw the ominous rhyme carved above the door. He wasn’t sure how but he had actually forgotten how hardcore the goblins were. This really wasn’t a place for innocent mirth.

With his good mood dampened Harry quickly made his way to the nearest teller, who had, until Harry's approach been counting and sorting what looked to be a large lovely pile of opals.

"Excuse me," Harry said in as polite a voice as he could manage. "I have a letter here from my account manager regarding my inheritance."

The goblin didn’t even look up and Harry shuffled from foot to foot while he waited. He was about to try and speak again when the goblin beat him to it.

"Name?"

Its voice was deeper and colder than what would be expected for a creature of its size. It was certainly different than his Professor Flitwick's. Harry blinked.

"Oh-uh, Harry. Harry Potter," he said fighting back a flush at his awkward stutter, not that it would have made a difference. This goblin seemed to already hate him. As if to display just how little it thought of Harry the goblin emitted an enormous and unnecessary sigh before flipping through its leger.

"Harry Potter 11:30 AM, on November the twenty-sixth, Wizarding Year 1994. An appointment and overview of account with account manager Groblik?"

Harry quickly glanced at his letter before nodding. The goblin sighed again.

"Wand please," the goblin sounded like a teenager working in a muggle clothing store as if it rather be anywhere else. It even emitted a third soul-wrenching sigh as Harry scrambled to find his wand in one of his pockets. Harry couldn’t stop a small scowl from curling his lips. He hated feeling like a bother. The goblin could stand to have more patience. In response, it merely bared its sharp teeth and jutted out its hand for Harry's wand.

After finally retrieving the piece of wood, from a pocket he didn’t even know he had, Harry reluctantly handed it to the sharp-fingered asshole at the desk. The goblin made a show of inspecting it and Harry got the feeling it was fucking with him after it drummed the wand next to its leger several times. With each tap, tap, tap harry flinched. Which probably only made the goblin want to do it more.

Eventually, the tapping stopped and Harry's wand was handed back him, fortunately, none the worse for what the goblin had done the poor baby. He had the most absurd urge to coo at the piece of wood and comfort it after its ordeal. No wonder goblins hated wizards, they were all mental.

The goblin then stepped down from its desk (how could something so short be that big of a jerk.) and led him through a hall off to Harry's right. Ushered through a plain metal door with no perceivable or significant markings, Harry was then told to wait in the nearly empty sitting room as the goblin left. It returned a moment later before Harry could die of boredom in the world's most boring room, followed by the shortest and fattest goblin Harry had ever seen. Its eyes though were bright and intelligent, perhaps more so than any of the other goblins Harry had seen and Harry knew he would be an idiot to underestimate this goblin due to it rotund visage.

"Mr. Potter," the new goblin said in greeting. "I am Groblik, of Stoneshield, and account manager for the Potter Family since your grandfather claimed his heirship. If you would follow me to my office we might proceed with our meeting."

The walk this time was longer than the previous had been and led him much deeper into the bank. He passed doorway after doorway, several guided and ornate, others plain metal, one even was so black it seemed to be just a hole in the wall and when Harry passed by he couldn’t stop a shiver from lancing down his spine.

He could probably guess what lay through that door.

Finally, they arrived at a modestly decorated door with lovely inlays of ruby and topaz forming subtle mosaics around the edge. Its handle and hinges appeared to be made of gold, Harry thought but he knew gold was too soft a metal for such utilitarian purposes, it was probably just plaited over something stronger. As they passed through, Harry noticed small runes at the goblin's eye level and briefly wondered what they meant before he beheld the contents of the room.

Red and Gold.

So much of it in fact that Harry wondered if the entirety of Gryffindor old and new put all of their Gryffindor gear in this room would even hold a candle to the sheer quantities of crimson sunrise he saw before him. The Groblik noticed his flabbergasted expression and grinned, exposing its serrated smile.

"Yes, your ancestors were quite enthusiastic about their heritage. It is quite unfortunate that the neglected their darker roots. I much prefer the Peverell colors."

Harry, still reeling from the onslaught of Gryffindor could only nod. He honestly had no idea what the Peverell colors were. Perhaps silver, like the color of his cloak.

The Groblik sat at the desk of red-brown wood in the center of the room and quickly presented Harry with a needle, a bit of parchment and instructions to drop exactly 7 drops of blood onto the sheet. When the red had landed Harry watched it spread as if dropped in water. A tingle of nerves, or perhaps magic began prickling at the back of his neck and Harry had the strangest feeling of waiting for something big, for his life to change.

The prickling grew more intense spreading through his limbs until his fingertips felt alight with electricity. And as the hum built and built to a euphoric crescendo the roll of parchment split in two. The magic had been feeling dropped as soon as the parchment had split and Harry felt a wave of near-overwhelming emptiness take him. He felt drained and stripped down as if something essential he hadn't even known he was missing was just returned to him, only to be robbed away again. He almost wanted to cry. Was that supposed to happen?

He looked at the goblin, but it paid him no mind. It was too busy looking at the split parchment on its desk parchment, confusion clearly etched in the lines on its forehead. It surveyed the damaged the sheet and frowned before it glanced up at Harry before. He saw it wiggle its long, inhuman fingers and Harry felt a small wash of exotic magic press against his own.

"A magical inspection and diagnostic," The goblin said in explanation. "It seems, Mr. Potter, that your magic is suppressed. There are, however, steps we here at Gringotts can take to aid you in your plight." 

Harry had no idea what that meant and Goblins looked a lot like sharks with their pointed teeth and small beady eyes so he decided to be cautious. His ignorance was dangerous, goblins didn’t like wizards and he wouldn’t put it past them to take advantage of him. 'Suppressed'. He wondered if that was exactly what it sounded like, so many things in the wizarding world weren't. He nodded at the goblin to continue.

"The scan was superficial but the in the loosest of terms a combination of black and white sacrificial magics are working against each other within you. Your magic has oriented defensively, preserving your body against the unnatural tension created by the foreign signatures. As you can see," He gestured at the split parchment. "it is also interfering with your family magics making inheritance impossible at this time." 

Harry frowned. Was this why he had an abnormally difficult time using certain spells. He had noticed it especially this year with all his training for the tournament`.

"What can be done?" 

"The lordships will continue to remain unclaimed, with you as the sole heir. The family magics have not rejected you, but they not powerful enough to form the bond with these other magics isolating your own deep within." The Goblin looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking again. "We staff and have connections to numerous experts in intensive purifying rituals that might allow the foreign magics to merge with your own." 

Harry did not want to know why proprietors of Britain's largest magical bank staffed experts in purifying rituals. Goblins were to put it frankly, a breed apart. He didn’t doubt that, within the bank, severely illegal and wicked magics were in practice even as he spoke. Gods the ministry was stupid. As if wizards could do anything to combat this powerful race. Not with all the amount of Human magic lost to the isles.

"And side effects? I can't imagine merging those magics my own without consequences." 

"I cannot answer that. I shall send a letter to the rune and ritual masters we have on staff if you so desire?" 

"I do. If any procedure is viable I shall participate, if not will the people you contact be willing to help me find alternatives for relieving the pressure on my core? I have no desire to leave my titles unclaimed" 

"They are goblin and our creed is gold. They will help as long as you can pay. Healers can also be contacted, their areas of magic and expertise might open alternatives as well." 

"Then please approach them. You will inform me as soon as a meeting can be arranged? And am I still able to access the Heirloom Vault." 

"Of course, Mr. Potter a cart can be fetched immediately and a missive will be sent with the details of the meeting. As always it is loathsome doing business with you." 

"Farewell Stoneshield."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna cry I'm so hungry. also, comments are much appreciated :)


	3. Chapter 3

I improved that old art lol. I'll get back to writing this soon sorry its been so long life caught up with me. Welp here this as a placeholder until I get my sorry butt together 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us be real Harry would probably still choose his Weasley sweater over a whole closet of luxury even if Ron and he were on the outs.


End file.
